


The Unquiet Grave

by MorningsofGold



Category: Silver in the Wood - Emily Tesh
Genre: Dubious Consent, Implied Folkloric Ghost Orgy, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Thirsty for a Supernatural Experience at All Costs, Weird Wood Time, kind of poly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21828619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorningsofGold/pseuds/MorningsofGold
Summary: After all this time, Henry still cannot say whether he came willingly with Fabian or not. But the Lord of Summer is powerful enough to compel any man to his will, especially a man as hungry for magic as Henry.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	The Unquiet Grave

After all this time, Henry still cannot say whether he came willingly or not. 

He remembers the day Fabian spirited him away the way he remembers burning his hand on a hot iron as a child; with a painful sense of immediacy. It could have been days ago, or weeks. All Henry remembers is those eyes, dark as honeyed rum, sinking right into him as he walked through the door of Tobias' cottage. Those eyes, and that smile, all white teeth and sweet-edged malice.

"Oh," Fabian had said, with so much pleasure it was almost a purr. "Oh, perfect."

He had enough information by that time to know who exactly was sitting splayed out in the cottage like he owned the place: Fabian Rafela. Or at least the specter of him, kept alive by some awful, old magic. Magic as strong as that had a taste, and Henry could make out the tang of it in the air the moment he entered the room. It went straight to his head like whiskey, even though it should be scaring the daylights out of him. After all, he was staring down his own death. 

Henry didn't flinch when Fabian rose in one fluid motion to peel him out of his coat, hands rough and deft at the same time. Fabian did not ask permission, but he seemed assured that Henry would not fight him. And he hadn't been wrong, had he?

Still, willingness is a thing very up in the air. Where Tobias' magic is all loamy green tendrils and the solidness of rich earth underfoot, Fabian feels altogether different. He is a thing of the forest as well, but his magic is hot and shimmering as summer light bouncing off glossy leaves, as heady as overripe fruit squashed underfoot. It’s enough to compel any man to Fabian's will, but especially a man as desperate for a taste of magic as Henry. 

As much as Henry hates to admit it, he has never been able to resist the temptation to walk right into the heart of an enchantment and examine it from every angle until his curiosity is sated. But if Fabian has a heart, it’s a dark, engulfing thing, and it leaves Henry feeling more like the creature being studied than the scholar.

But doesn’t a tiny part of him like that? Just a little?

It is hard to say, especially with Fabian's strong arms around him in their burrow under the earth. Sometimes Henry will remember where he is, who he is with, and gasp out for fear until Fabian kisses him quiet again. It’s hard to think of anything else with Fabian’s silver tongue darting into his mouth. Henry hasn’t been kissed much, and never liked this, not like someone was trying to leave marks on his heart. 

There’s a certain poison behind the kiss, a slow-spreading magic that goes through him in a numb wave. It makes him more willing to concede, either by virtue of the spell, or because Henry has spent his entire life desperate for something to put a spell on him. His mother thinks it’s unseemly, his willingness to get into the good graces (into bed, even) with preternatural creatures. But he can’t see the point in killing something so rarefied and ancient, even something as wicked to the core as Fabian Rafela. 

If someone put a gun loaded with silver bullets into Henry's hand at this moment, he probably couldn’t pull the trigger.

The way Fabian’s nimble fingers slide beneath Henry’s shirttail make him all the more unwilling to fight back, too, although Henry knows he should be ashamed of that part. Shouldn’t he put a little more effort into being faithful to Tobias? The Green Man has never so much as touched him in an untoward way, but he knows that there’s something real between them, just waiting to take root. He cares for Tobias deeply, even with Fabian twining around him like a snake. But why, Henry wonders, why can’t he love Tobias and love the electric thrill that goes through him when Fabian leans over his prone body, copper hair spilling around them like a shroud, and says,

“You’re so lovely like that. Mouth all red and swollen from kissing. Do you want me to touch you, pet?”

Henry begs. Of course he does. 

Fabian’s world is lit almost entirely by the glowing souls of the dead. Faery light, Henry called it when he was younger and stupider and more full of wide-eyed hope about the kindness of magical things. Real magic is not kind, of course, or only rarely so. Tobias was kind, in his own way, but Fabian is rooted deep in the hungry, selfish old enchantment of the woods. He takes what he wants without remorse or permission, and he does so with a peal of laughter that would put any unfeeling storybook fairy prince to shame. 

It makes Henry shiver, that laugh. 

Fabian hand-feeds him the sticky-sweet fruit of the wood. Henry knows better than to eat the food of the dead, but his mouth opens so willingly for Fabian's slick fingers. Fabian coos at him as he swallows every last piece of the blackberries, the ones that leave a stain on his mouth like blood. 

"There we are, sweet. So obliging for me."

The ghosts circle, watching while Fabian laps the juice from Henry’s cheek. Henry winces at the hot scrape of tongue and all Fabian’s dead lovers crowd in closer, hungry for the sight of him. It’s hard to say whether their voyeurism comes from delight in the knowledge of what will happen to Henry when Fabian is done with him, or a desperate desire to warn him away from it. 

He has been lying here for hours, or days, or half the summer. Time sluices over his body like water; it carries no weight of meaning. Sometimes, when Fabian’s bottomless appetite for play is roused, Henry feels phantom hands helping him out of his shirt. While Fabian takes his sweet time unmaking Henry, drawing out every little whimper and moan he can from the mortal, Henry feels ghostly fingers trail through his hair. Maybe the ghosts want to be closer to Fabian, to live inside the heat blossoming between him and Henry and feel like they’re being reunited with their old lover. Or maybe they fancy Henry’s flushed cheeks, the way his living breath quickens when Fabian presses their bodies together. 

At first, Henry is embarrassed by the undead company, but Fabian breaks him of that quickly. Henry learns to love the feeling of ghostly kisses roaming over his body while Fabian ruins him with his mouth, to thrill at the sensation of unseen hands holding his wrists down while the Lord of Summer presides over him with that heartless smile. If this is what it means to be a plaything of the supernatural, Henry is more than willing. He feels like he’s been waiting for his entire life to be taken like this, shared between a dozen undead things in the eerie light of a timeless underground. 

His mother would most certainly not approve, and Tobias would be appalled, but he hopes that Tobias would understand. Fabian was blessed with charm in life, and death has only magnified his irresistibility.

Tobias will come for him, Henry believes that in his heart. But until then, he's happy to play along as Fabian’s chosen thrall. 

After all, if Henry is to be the mortal prize bartered over by two handsome creatures in this fairy tale, he may as well enjoy himself.


End file.
